On Dying, Not Dying, and Friendship
by fidefortitude
Summary: When a soul crosses the veil once and then returns to live again, Death would assume a Winchester. When a soul crosses the veil half a dozen times and returns to live again, Death would assume someone is spiking his soda.


As a simple rule of his existence, Death did not aquaint himself with anyone. All beings were to ultimately cease to exist at one point or another in their lifetime- no one being was immortal but him. Even God, the creator of all, would one day simply fail to exist. Death would sweep him up in the dying embers of life and continue his journey, as he always did. Universes and deities would collapse and turn to dust and he would watch it all, and as such he held no interest in making friends with any of the dying- they were inconsequential, tiny, fleeting.

But one such tiny and fleeting life came back.

He rarely paid attention to the flow of deaths- some he personally attended, such as the nearly-death of one such Sam Winchester, but having seen the man pushed back and forth across the veil (sometimes by his own hand) so many times, he was starting to get a little bored of paying attention to when the Winchesters were actually going to stay dead. And as he only rarely even paid attention to the Winchesters, he didn't even pay heed to a single inconsequential human soul flickering out of existence.

He did heed, however, when it flickered back into existence.

He touched down on London's soil, moving silently and calmly through the streets, unnoticed by those who passed him. He sensed the errant soul, pushed through space-time as easily as blinking, and stood unseen next to a group of people. A wedding, a man with a blue box, a woman in a wedding dress, a man in a tuxedo.

There. The man in the tuxedo. He looked past his appearance on the visual spectrum, watched instead the man's pure being, his soul, arcing in electric waves through his body. Death frowned slightly. The man's soul had passed a thousand event horizons. A time-traveller. Death widened his gaze, looked upon the married woman, the man standing by the police box. Both, too, time travellers- Death recognised a Time Lord when he saw one, and he certainly recognised the Time Lord who was the last of his kind.

But he was not currently invested in the Doctor. Death turned his attention back to the man at hand- the man who, seemingly without assistance, had come back to life.

But for all his abilities, Death could not see any reason behind the man coming back to life- no tampering had occurred, no telltale touch of an angel, a reaper.

It was as if his death had never occurred.

Death frowned, turning away from the wedding scene, pushing through reality and reaching out to brush the time continuum. He found the break in reality almost immediately; the new version of proceedings branching off from the previous, broken branch of reality, a newly minted version of time and space that had switched into position as easily as blinking. Death almost felt frustrated by the bending of the time-space line. He wasn't the creator, but he knew the creator well and he would not be happy with the sudden kink in the timeline.

But he now knew the nature of the time-traveller's lack of death- a simple bend in time and space, nothing more.

And Death dismissed him.

Until he died again.

* * *

This time, Death came to personally meet the man who had evaded him by recreating a universe. It was a feat to make your death never happen at all, and he wished to, at least, acknowledge him and reap him personally this time. He had been evaded once, he wouldn't be evaded twice.

"Rory Williams," He said to the departed soul. Rory turned to Death, eyes wide and posture defensive.

"Who're you?" The man managed, before looking around in sudden shock at the strange, firelit house he found himself in. It was a sort of interim home for Death; his place for speaking with the souls of the dead. It was intended to be peaceful, sedate.

Rory wasn't really getting the whole 'sedate' thing.

Death inclined his head in an acknowledgement of Rory. "I am Death, Rory Williams. Your soul has departed the earthly plane."

Rory seemed to be ignoring him. The time-traveller gave Death one long, angry stare, before stalking back and forth across the house, searching for, it seemed, an exit.

"Rory Williams," Death said, used to the denial of the newly dead, "You drowned to death thirty seconds ago. You are now absolved of your earthly responsibilities."

Rory suddenly stopped still, turned to face Death.

"You're clearly not married," He replied, before suddenly flashing out of existence.

And Death felt a soul pass the veil and reinstate itself into a body.

And Death decided he really needed to go get take-out.

* * *

The months passed and Death started to meet Rory more and more. The nurse would be intercepted by Death into his home, but before Death could personally reap him, Rory would always find a way back to life. When it came to the sixth time, Death had completely let go of any sense of office or propriety.

* * *

Rory found himself once more in the hazy, firelit wood cabin, looking around in a mix of shock and annoyance.

"Hello, Rory Williams."

Rory didn't bother to look around, he immediately began searching for the chink in the armour of the house, the escape for his soul to shift away and past the veil again.

"Done it again, have we?"

That was a new addition to the general spiel from 'Death'. Rory paused in his search, looked around.

Death was not standing with a white cane in his hand and a businesslike expression on his face, as Rory had gotten used to. The horseman of the apocalypse was in fact calmly eating a deep-dish pizza with a fork from where he sat on a plush sofa, observing Rory with the expression one would reserve for a rather interesting documentary.

Rory chose his words carefully. "Yeah, well, saving the world will do that," He replied. "Are you- eating pizza?"

Death had now transferred his attention entirely to his food. "I was in Chicago when you died again," He replied. "I felt it would be impolite to leave my food uneaten." He then looked up to survey Rory. "Come and eat a slice."

Rory turned away, began searching the house once more. "I have a wife to get to, Death."

"I know, and I am certain you will leave soon and I shall see you back here the same time next week," Death replied with only the slightest hint of annoyance. "In the meantime, have a slice of pizza."

Rory recognised the invitation for the order it was. He sat down, tentatively and reluctantly, and ate the pizza.

It was the beginning of a friendship.

* * *

"I did it again!" Rory yelled to the seemingly empty house, strolling casually to the kitchen to grab the ever-present sugary drinks and takeaway leftovers. He picked out some chinese takeaway and some Sprite, walking back to the living room in time to see Death materialise onto the sofa with an expression of polite interest.

"A pleasure to see you have died once more, Rory," He replied wryly, taking the proferred drink and takeaway carton and willing a pair of chopsticks into existence. "How have you been since last we met?"

* * *

"So have you ever actually played games for someone's life?"

Death slurped on his Coke, with a raised eyebrow answering Rory's question silently.

Rory raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I get it, you don't."

Death lowered his drink and relaxed back into the sofa. A comfortable silence settled in the house.

"Not even Twister?"

Death considered this question.

"No, but I could win regardless."

"Is that a challenge?"

Death steepled his fingers, regarded the human in front of him archly.

"Yes, it is."

* * *

And then, it stopped. Death had plenty to keep him busy, regardless, but all of a sudden there was a gap in his life where there had been the seemingly immortal Rory Williams. The house went unused as the decades went on.

And then two souls flickered out of existence- two souls Death had long since earmarked for their passing.

* * *

"I'm back," A soft voice called into the house. "And Amy's here, too!"

A quick Scottish accent intervened. "What- where the hell are we? What are you talking abo-"

Death materialised into the house as if he hadn't been excited in the slightest. He was once more standing, cane in hand, observing them both with a businesslike expression.

And then a smile flit across his expression. Fleeting, but unmistakeably there. Like a human life.

"Rory Williams," He said, striding up to shake the nurse's hand, then pull him into a light embrace. "Here for good this time?" He asked, releasing him with a spark in his eyes that might have been excitement.

Rory smiled, nodded, took his wife's hand with a calm finality. His wife looked just a little put out at being left in the dark- Death nodded graciously at her, extended a hand which was tentatively shaken. "Amy Pond," He said with a faint tone of reverence for the woman who had dragged Rory Williams back and forth across the veil without even knowing she was doing it. "I am Death. I have heard much about you."

Amy gave a bemused, tiny lift of her lips into a smile. Rory began moving instinctively towards the kitchen, before stopping himself, as if aware of the newly businesslike atmosphere that was his final death.

But while Death was going to reap them today, he wanted to catch up with events first. He swept a hand from Rory to the kitchen with a faint smile.

"You know where the sodas are," He said, before retreating to the sofa with a polite motion for Amy to follow him.

He had a few decade's worth of news to catch up with, after all.

* * *

**This is by far the most ridiculous thing I have ever written. And I am unbelievably proud of it. I wrote it at one in the morning in a single sitting and it references Bill and Ted for no other reason than my own sense of amusement and Rory sasses Death and Death sasses Rory and dear god they would be the ultimate brotp. The reaper and the guy who refuses to be reaped.**

**But for the record, the idea was not mine! You can blame 'tardiswanted' on tumblr for the gifset that started this. I just put the idea into a terrible quality fic.**

**Reviews are my only means of knowing whether or not my writing is getting worse or not, and if you read this and enjoyed/despised it I would love to hear from you, if only a sentence or two. Have a great day regardless!**


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